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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27372808">and if it's a boy he can carry a gun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellebored/pseuds/hellebored'>hellebored</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i'll see you with your laughter lines [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baby angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, References to Prostitution, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:02:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27372808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellebored/pseuds/hellebored</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Most victors don't have children. Not in the Districts, at least, and not by choice. </p><p>(Annie's pov; post-70th/pre-75th games.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i'll see you with your laughter lines [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and if it's a boy he can carry a gun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6CnHEGGN5g">Crow on the Cradle</a> was written in response to the Cold War, it's morbid as shit, and it makes a great lullaby.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After two days offshore, Finnick looks better.</p><p>There's grime under his nails and salt in his brine-stiffened hair, and his smile — so tense when he first gets off the train, still clipped to just the right width for camera-ready perfection — loosens up under a late autumn sun.</p><p>The ocean returns him to himself, and if the weather's stable enough for swimming, fishing, or sailing, the weight of the Capitol slips easier from his shoulders.</p><p>Tucked in the cramped aft cabin of Finnick's sailboat, Annie curls against the curve of his chest. He's solid bone and muscle, which makes him nearly uncomfortable to lay on in places, but the thick cable-knit wool sweater from her mama pads him enough that Annie can't complain. Underneath one of her hands his chest rises and falls in a comforting rhythm.</p><p>The soft patter of rain on the skylight quickly turns into an angry-sounding torrent that lashes the glass over the cabin and smears out the sky. Annie roots her face under the edge of the blanket. When one of Finnick's arms settles over her back, she tries to let out her breath slowly, self-conscious of the tension in her body.</p><p>—It's only a mild squall. Not a wall of dark water threatening to bash her against boulders or drown her in the snarled roots of fallen trees: just the ocean, an untrappable wild thing Snow will never own, and if it kills her at least she dies free.</p><p>Finnick starts to hum, hand trailing on her back.</p><p>"Mama used to sing that," Annie says, surprised by the memory. "<em>Crow on the Cradle</em>."</p><p>"<em>Your mother and father will scrimp and will save — to buy you a coffin and dig you a grave</em>," Finnick sings, and laughs. "Now <em>there's</em> a District lullaby."</p><p>"Too morbid for the Capitol?" Annie asks, eyes sparkling. "Their loss. Babies aren't fussy 'bout words. And with a voice like yours, you could charm even the fussiest little monster to sleep just singing the obituaries."</p><p>Something melancholy flickers behind Finnick's answering smile. Annie watches with growing alarm as sadness overtakes his face.</p><p>"Finnick?"</p><p>Finnick chews on his lip, a vulnerable gesture Annie's never seen him make in public, and toys with the edge of the blanket.</p><p>Concern churns in Annie's stomach and tightens into fear. "Did I say something bad?"</p><p>"No," Finnick says, sounding tired. "I just realized the only children I'll ever have are ones I won't get to sing to."</p><p>The dim berth, lit only by the rain-slicked hatch overhead, carries enough light to show Finnick's pale face suddenly pinched with shame. His green eyes are dark and miserable.</p><p>It's clear enough what he's implying. Apparently there's at least one child in the Capitol with those eyes, and the thought of how they got them makes Annie want to be sick. She pushes down the nausea, fingers biting into her curled palm to keep her in the room.</p><p>How dare they. <em>How dare they</em>.</p><p>She knows she needs to say something, but Finnick's the one who always seems to have the right words, not her. He's good at reading faces, too, and it balances out the way words jumble in her mouth, but he's not <em>looking</em> at her now, and Annie's half-afraid to touch him.</p><p>"That's not your fault," she manages, and Finnick starts to blink rapidly through wet lashes.</p><p>A hollow, horrible feeling floods Annie: she's supposed to be helping, not making it worse, but navigating through all the painful places inside of him, especially when she's fairly certain she only knows a fraction of them, feels like stumbling through razorwire in the dark.</p><p>Finnick lifts himself up. He can't go far in a thirty-one-foot sailboat when it's pouring buckets outside but there's always the fore cabin. Annie can make herself small and out of the way. Scooting her back against the wall, she huddles under the blanket.</p><p>To her surprise, Finnick merely turns and settles on his side, knees pulled up between them, and bends his head toward hers, breath shuddering in and out.</p><p>Not for the first time, Annie wonders how any of <em>them</em> can lay next to him without feeling like they'd set fire to the entire world to keep him from harm; the answer, she thinks, is they know they'd have to burn themselves too.</p><p>Finnick shifts one of his arms, and she feels the feather-light touch of the back of his hand, his knuckles, stroking over her belly.</p><p>Annie's chest aches. She knows what he's saying.</p><p>"That's not your fault, either," she whispers.</p><p>Eyebrows pulled tightly together, Finnick swallows. He doesn't try to speak until his breathing evens out. "I'm sorry. That's a shitty way for you to find out I'm a father."</p><p>Annie vehemently shakes her head. <em>Shitty</em> would be learning about it twenty years from now on some exposé on mandatory broadcast. It's too easy to imagine a garish old Caesar Flickerman parading out a lineup of teenagers with Finnick's hair or eyes, Finnick's laugh. She pushes the thought away and reaches for his hand instead.</p><p>Light through the hatch fades and gives way to dusk. In the cabin all Annie hears is the rain, the sea's dark waves lapping against the hull, and the soft sound of Finnick breathing.</p><p>She thinks about babies with his golden-brown curls. In spite of the violence they were created from, she hopes they're sung to and loved — for Finnick's sake, if nothing else. He doesn't deserve the guilt of bringing children into the world who end up as nothing more than a passing fad for rich and empty women.</p><p>Annie cards her fingers through Finnick's hair. Gradually she feels the tension ease from his arms, his shoulders, his face. The ocean holds him. He'll be alright.</p><p>∆</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>While I wouldn't personally headcanon this as <i>why</i> Annie (or Finnick) would vote no in mockingjay, it certainly adds to it - like a layer cake with "no" as the cake and "fuck no" as the frosting. :)</p><p>(Meanwhile Johanna would be like, <i>what's the big deal? They're not your kids</i>.</p><p>They're not, but they should have been.)<br/>--</p><p>someday I'll be able to write longer things. someday!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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